


i don’t forgive you (but please don’t hold me to it)

by moonrocks



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Makeup Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Way Too Many Cum Jokes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26017516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonrocks/pseuds/moonrocks
Summary: After abstaining from the vote of no confidence, Stewy is looking to make it up to Kendall.For whatever reason, Kendall lets him.(Canon divergence from "Prague" in which Kendall agrees to "talk in private.")
Relationships: Stewy Hosseini/Kendall Roy
Comments: 14
Kudos: 79





	i don’t forgive you (but please don’t hold me to it)

**Author's Note:**

> I know I just posted a fic but, uh, here ya go. Back at it again. TW for drug use and one too many cum jokes.
> 
> Embarrassingly titled after a lyric from a Phoebe Bridgers song.

Kendall is well-versed in Stewy’s brand of innuendo. After a lifetime of fooling around together, Kendall knows Stewy’s playbook like he wrote it himself. Poorly concealed requests to cram together in a restroom stall, lewd hand gestures that could only be misconstrued by the oblivious, offers of coke and maybe something else to append their high. The tilt of Stewy’s head is prepositioning, eager but ready to assuage the rejection with a shrug of his shoulders and a change in conversation.

Kendall is unsurprised when Stewy finally poses the question. His voice cuts above the generic bass-boosted trance music Kendall feels thumping behind his ribs. 

“Hey, why don’t we talk in private for a second? Can we do that?”

Stewy’s already straightening to lead Kendall away from the bar. His bottom lip is curled into his mouth, brows raised, eyes half-lidded and anticipatory.

Kendall should say no. He knows what Stewy’s doing, rerouting the bachelor party from Prague to some leaky, coked-out warehouse, listening to him talk about VCing with obligatory enthusiasm, apologizing but never saying sorry. He’d expected a justification of that breed as soon as he quit blowing Stewy off. It’s partly why he avoided him. In his state of down-and-out, he knew each excuse Stewy prescribed him would be difficult to swallow, fist-sized pills stuffed with enough business rationale to make anyone gag. 

But now, here, it feels more difficult not to swallow them. With Stewy so close, Kendall can easily wash down his expertly framed reasoning with a helping of established good faith and nostalgia. 

_I love you, man. But you know I had to follow the money. You know that, right?_

Kendall does know. He knows too well. 

A taut pause forces itself between them.

Stewy smiles, gently and without pretension, and Kendall feels his hesitation temper. Stewy, untrustworthy by his own admittance. Stewy, competent enough to augur the outcome of the vote before Kendall could call on him. Stewy, who claimed Logan’s performance issues were “a family matter.” It all amalgamated into a last-ditch effort that forced Kendall to walk into that boardroom with his cock hanging out, caught on his fucking zipper. 

For whatever reason, Kendall missed him. 

“Uh, sure,” Kendall says, shrugging, not quite meeting Stewy’s eyes. “Whatever, dude.”

“Alright then.” Stewy beams. He slips a hand out of his pocket and pats Kendall twice on the shoulder, then steers him away from the bar. His palm lingers on Kendall’s back a second too long to be friendly. Kendall memorizes the warmth. “Come on. Follow me.”

The backroom Stewy leads him to is dimly lit like the rest of the warehouse, mired in a sickly greenish hue. It was probably a supply closet or a cramped office at some point, but after being converted into an art-trash sex hangout, the room is all exposed brick and beams, a bizarre modernist sculpture of two plastic manikin hands drilled into the furthermost wall. 

Kendall thinks about Dust. He reminds himself to find Angela again before the end of the night. 

Stewy closes the door behind them. The fractured light show that’s pouring over the dance floor is suddenly shut out, the music growing fainter. Stewy plops himself down on a sleek couch that Kendall is afraid to look at in case he sees cum stains fossilized in the leather. Drug paraphernalia litters a misshapen, see-through coffee table in front of it. Discarded rolled-up bills and miniature metal tubes and snuff spoons and credit cards. A Ziplock baggie of coke sits haphazardly unsealed, threatening to spill out onto the floor. 

Stewy snatches it up before it can. He pours it out onto the table as Kendall eyes him suspiciously, lingering near the doorway with his hands in his pockets. Stewy begins cutting a line, then two, then three. Kendall listens to the thwack of the Amex black card hitting the table over and over, wondering if, for once, this is all Stewy wants him for. 

“So, um, Stew. Why’d you bring me here into this fucking, uh, back alley coke den?” Kendall asks, annoyance cutting each word into something terser than necessary. “What did you wanna talk to me about?”

Stewy glances up at him before looking back down at the table to thin out his lines. He jerks his head to the right.

“Stop fucking hovering, dude. Sit down. Relax.” He motions towards the couch with the powdery edge of the credit card, then at the coke. “Did you want any of this?”

Kendall sits beside Stewy but keeps his distance, half a cushion between them. He leans forward, slumping. “This shit’s yours?” 

Stewy smirks. “Oh, come on, Ken. I’m not a fucking coke swipe. This isn’t high school.” He grabs a snuff tube off the table and twirls it between his thumb and forefinger. He points it at Kendall. “It’s good shit if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

It’s tempting. Kendall thinks about the ketamine he asked Greg to scavenge for, if Greg can manage to find his way through the party and into the lap of a decent dealer. Kendall glances over at Stewy. Stewy’s eyes flirt between him and the coke, pupils overblown in the subdued glow of the refurbished chandelier above them. Kendall could feel those same eyes on the back of his neck as security ushered him out of the boardroom, passive but unwavering.

_Abstain._

“I—uh, no,” Kendall says curtly. “Maybe later.”

Stewy responds to his refusal by bending over and doing two lines, one after the other. He stops himself before doing the third, leaning back with a satisfied groan. The tube is still perched between his fingers. He sniffs, pinches his nose, his left nostril ringed with residue. He wipes it away with the pad of his thumb and briefly sucks it into his mouth.

Kendall looks away, but the image lingers, reminiscent of memories spanning high school to the present. He remembers wasted days enduring hangovers and attending rowdy keggers, hurriedly getting each other off in a frat house bathroom even though someone kicked the door in and the latch no longer works. Kendall feels tempted by the untouched line laying thin and white on the tabletop. But even more so, he feels tempted by Stewy.

Stewy looks at him expectantly, wearing a self-satisfied smirk. If circumstances were different, Kendall would give in just to avoid Stewy’s leering, but his irritation dissuades him.

“So, how was family fun time in New Mexico?” Stewy asks, his thumbnail coming to rest against his bottom lip. “I heard shit got a bit spiky, but it made for a tasty headline: Roy family freak show reconciles in the Great American West. But I only saw your dad and Roman in the photo-op, amongst the cacti and tumbleweeds and shit.”

Kendall cringes. He’s unduly reminded of the stories Logan had planted to lure him out into the desert. They’d tapered off since Kendall returned to New York and launched himself into VCing, but his dad had ultimately gotten what he wanted: a tabloid-driven druggie exposé that became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Kendall tries not to think about it, ignoring the guilt associated with falling for the bait hook, line, and sinker. He supposes he deserved it, after the shitshow of the vote and getting a third of the board fired with his incompetence.

_Do you think you can win?_

Kendall scoffs, shaking his head.

“Uh, yeah, it was great.” He lets out a humourless chuckle. “Yeah, no, we fucking, uh, sat in a circle and made flower crowns, dude.”

“Right, sure.” Stewy thoughtfully twists the tube back and forth between his fingers. He raises an eyebrow. “But, I mean, the stock is up, so . . . it was good for something, at least.”

“Yeah, uh, thank fuck for that, I guess.”

Stewy rolls his eyes. Kendall had figured Stewy had something to do with Logan dragging the family out into the boonies for a psychological brain-smoothing: an obvious attempt to placate the public after an onslaught of negative press and heated op-eds. Kendall heard through Frank that Stewy was becoming increasingly involved in Logan’s local TV crusade, advising him on the acquisition deal with Roman in tow. Kendall probably should’ve expected it, but it holds open the wound of Stewy’s abstention like a surgical retractor.

_Follow the money. Follow the money. Follow the money._

Kendall hears it over and over in his head like an obnoxious yoga mantra.

Stewy scooches over to align himself with the third and last line of coke. No cushion space remains between them. Their legs brush, settling flush against each other. While they sit knee to knee, Stewy bends over and does another line, then straightens with a grunt. Kendall watches him. He taps the dusty end of the tube against his tongue, suggestively looking over at Kendall as the coke dissolves.

Kendall knows Stewy. He knows the playbook. In thirty-some-odd years, they’ve fought and made up enough times that he knows exactly how Stewy likes to piece their friendship back together. Their shared self-destruction becomes reconstruction, Stewy playing into both their dirty habits until the betrayal is forgotten. Kendall knows what Stewy wants. If he had properly apologized, Kendall just might have fallen for it. If he had stopped playing a game Kendall was never given the rules to, he might just forgive him.

His anger boils, then finally spills over.

“Alright, Stew. What the fuck is this?”

The abruptness of Kendall’s question causes Stewy to pause, his tongue still partially out like a drooling puppy. His eyebrows furrow and he lowers the tube from his mouth.

“You—you reroute the bachelor party here to this sex addict freak fucking, uh, warehouse. You get Roman to hound me to come, you take me back here, you refuse to apologize—”

“Apologize?” Stewy says, incredulous. He blows air. “Fuck, Ken, what do you think I’m trying to do here?”

“This—this isn’t apologizing, bro,” Kendall bites back. He motions to the drug paraphernalia on the coffee table, the two of them sitting too close together on the couch. “This is—this is you doing that thing you do. Trying to, like, make it up to me while admitting to fuck all. You always do this, dude—”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

Stewy frowns. He turns to fully face Kendall. Kendall averts his eyes, but Stewy dips his head lower, chasing his gaze. He teases it upwards until Kendall has nowhere else to look. Kendall feels his cheeks burn, then the skin behind his ears.

“Look, you blow me off for a month,” Stewy says, “you decline every one of my calls, you leave me on read. You come in here, moping, talking about solar cells or whatever? I—”

“So you bring me in here?” Kendall interrupts. “To, what, get me off and get yourself off, like, the hook? Use me to absolve you of your guilt?”

“Guilt? Who said anything about guilt?” Stewy runs a palm over his face. “Jesus, look at you!” He gestures abruptly towards Kendall. “You grew a fucking depression beard, man. Like, what the fuck! How else am I supposed to react?”

Kendall feels a pointed hurt stir in his chest. He thinks about the vote, how he called Stewy’s name three times before he bothered to answer. Team Future, dead in the fucking water before Kendall could reel the anchor up. He feels like a joke.

“I dunno, Stew. You could say, y’know, sorry?” Kendall says. “Like a normal fucking person—”

Stewy rolls his eyes. He sighs when they land on Kendall again. “Seriously? Are we in the third grade again? Did I just break your Transformer during recess?”

Kendall seethes, defiantly keeping his eyes fixed downward. He knows Stewy hates it when he avoids him. A moment passes without either of them speaking, then something changes. Stewy softens, annoyance ironed out from his expression. An indication of surrender perhaps.

“I’m sorry for what happened, alright?” Stewy admits. “You have to know that, Ken.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kendall says dismissively. “Sorry for what happened but not for what you did.”

Stewy groans. “Ugh, come on, man. What do I have to do? Do you want me to beg?”

He clasps his hands together in a mock plea and leans in closer. Half sarcasm, half juvenile posturing to deaden his sincerity and make Kendall laugh. It almost works.

“Consider me down on the IPA and cum soaked floor, Kendall, prostrating myself, begging for your forgiveness. Please.”

Kendall says nothing. He pushes away the amusement that finds him out of habit. It only intensifies his annoyance. He’s hyper-aware that with every glance, every smirk, every counter-argument, Stewy is beating him into forgiveness. Kendall hates that he wants it: the coked-up posturing, the lingering looks, the overly-sentimental makeup sex. For a second, he considers leaving to shake Greg down for that ketamine he asked for, but then Stewy reaches out and grips his knee.

He squeezes gently at first, fingers pressing upwards into Kendall’s thigh. Kendall tries and fails to divert his attention away from the touch. Stewy squeezes again, harder, and Kendall meets his eyes.

“Seriously, dude,” Stewy reiterates, the irritation in his voice abating.

Beneath it all, he sounds sincere. He usually is. His lies are less lies than they are half-truths or obfuscations. His decision to abstain from the vote was no different. Kendall should have realized that before deciding to rely on him.

“I want to make it up to you, okay? If you would just fucking let me.”

Kendall glances down at the hand on his knee. He feels the warmth spread from Stewy’s palm into his skin. It’s a familiarity he’d missed in the month and a half they were apart. The touch lingers. The grudge lessens. Kendall gives in. He can’t do anything else. With Stewy, he rarely can.

“Okay— _Jesus_ —but I want to hear you say it,” Kendall says. “Like, for real this time.”

“For real?” Stewy mimics, his nose wrinkling. “Are you trying to humiliate me, bro?”

Kendall scoffs. “I mean, you saw me shit myself in front of the entire board. So, like, who really got humiliated? This is called, uh, solidarity, _bro_.”

“No, Ken. I think it’s called fucking payback.” 

A pause, then Stewy leans in, closer and closer until their faces hover an inch away from each other. His hand is still perched on Kendall’s knee. Kendall stares into the ink of Stewy’s eyes. The creased corners match the mischievous tilt of his mouth. There’s nowhere else to look. Stewy usually makes sure of that.

“Sorry, Ken,” he says, his voice soft and pliable. “Really, I am. I’m _so_ incredibly sorry.”

Kendall wets his lips with his tongue, glancing down at how Stewy purses his own in response. He can feel heat pooling in his groin. He tries to ignore it. “Uh-huh, are you really?”

“Yeah, man. I’m the sorriest motherfucker you’ll ever fucking meet.”

Stewy slowly guides Kendall down onto the couch. Kendall goes willingly, but he keeps his expression steely, not wanting to give Stewy the satisfaction of seeing him broken down and needy. Kendall lays a hesitant hand on Stewy’s hip as he comes to straddle him. Restless fingers leave Kendall’s thigh to fiddle with his belt buckle, but Stewy stops just short of undoing it. He leans in, lips dangerously close to Kendall’s ear.

“Is that good enough for you?” Stewy asks. He shifts his hips in Kendall’s lap ever so slightly. “Or, if you want, I can put my sorry hand on your sorry cock and you can see just how sorry I am.”

Kendall laughs. It rips through his chest accidentally, and just like that, the game is over. Stewy grins and they easily fall back into the comfortable place thirty-plus years of friendship has built.

“Okay, okay,” Kendall says, cracking a smile. “I get it, Stew. Holy shit.”

Stewy leans down and kisses Kendall before he can burst out laughing again. The kiss is almost juvenile in its eagerness, their noses brushing, their teeth accidentally clacking together as Kendall clumsily cranes his neck to meet Stewy’s mouth. It’s been a few months since Kendall felt Stewy’s tongue parting his lips, his hands desperately burrowing beneath his t-shirt to press into his bare skin. Between his dad’s health crisis, the company debt issue, stepping up to the CEO home plate before stepping back down, there hadn’t been many opportunities. Kendall didn’t have time to think about it then, but in truth, he missed this.

He missed Stewy. 

The realization no longer annoys him. It only makes him more desperate to feel Stewy warm and willing beneath his fingertips. Kendall’s cock is hardening in his slacks as Stewy sinks his teeth into his lower lip, then breathily breaks the kiss. Stewy rests their foreheads together, eyes half-lidded with want, saliva shiny on his bottom lip. Kendall immediately feels the loss. He wants to kiss him again, taste him, but Stewy denies him that. A hand stills on his cheek to hold him back.

“What do you want, Ken?” Stewy asks softly, the pads of his fingers bristling against Kendall’s stubbly beard.

The question causes Kendall’s stomach to stir with arousal, desire, a bit of confusion maybe.

“Huh?” Kendall asks.

“What do you want?” Stewy reiterates, then tenderly traces the line of Kendall’s jaw with his thumb. “It’s a simple fucking question, Ken. Like, “what toppings do you want on your pizza?” Or, “do you prefer white socks or black?” I want to make it up to you, remember? Tell me what you want.” Stewy returns his hands to Kendall’s belt buckle. “Or do I need to provide you with a full tasting menu?”

Stewy undoes the clasp this time. He never takes his eyes off Kendall as his fingers do away with his belt, his gaze growing heavier and heavier. Kendall swallows in anticipation and Stewy’s eyes flick downwards to watch his Adam’s apple shift underneath his skin. Kendall imagines Stewy’s lips there, connecting the freckles on his throat, then imagines them trailing down his chest, tongue pausing to play with his nipples, then continuing down to his stomach, his groin.

Stewy unbuttons Kendall’s pants and unzips his fly. His cock is fully and obviously hard now, aching beneath the tented fabric of his underwear. Stewy brushes his palm against the front of Kendall’s boxer briefs—the absolute slightest of touches—and Kendall lets out a gasp.

“ _Fuck_ , Stew.”

“Always so sensitive,” Stewy teases. “Figure out what you want yet?”

By the angle of Stewy’s eyebrows, Kendall can tell another playful insult is burgeoning in his mouth, so he kisses him again before it can escape. Stewy smiles into the kiss, running his thumb down the length of Kendall’s cock through the fabric. Kendall moans, then gently nudges Stewy downwards with a hand against his shoulder.

“Didn’t daddy ever teach you it’s rude not to use your words?” Stewy asks, chuckling, but he continues his descent without protest.

“Yeah, he, uh, fucking did actually,” Kendall says, then bites back a groan. “Suck my dick, asshole.”

It comes out embarrassingly breathy and much goofier than he intended. Stewy laughs.

“Your dad taught you how to say that?” He tuts, tongue against his teeth. “I love it when you sweet talk me, babe.”

Kendall knows Stewy is only teasing, but the term of endearment makes his skin flush from neck to chest. Warmth prickles at the bottom of his spine. His cock twitches. Stewy pushes up his artsy graphic tee to string kisses from his rib cage to his naval, then stops to work his tongue into the flesh above his hip. Kendall cards his hands through Stewy’s hair, searching for recourse as each touch becomes more unbearable. It brings him close but not close enough. Kendall shuts his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Stewy’s tongue, Stewy’s breath, Stewy’s erection pressing against the fleshy part of his thigh.

Stewy.

Kendall struggles not to come apart before his pants even come off, but Stewy knows him too well not to tease him like this. He knows all of Kendall’s spots, his pressure points, the parts of his body where he can place his lips and Kendall’s sure to jump. With so much time together in the bank, it’d be strange if they functioned any other way. Stewy was Kendall’s first all those years ago. The first person to touch him, the first person to make his spine tingle and his toes curl, the first person he really fell in love with. Not much has changed. Stewy has only gotten better at it with age.

Finally, Stewy hooks his thumbs in Kendall’s underwear. He drags them off his hips and over his ass. The feeling of the leather against Kendall’s bare skin makes him shiver as his cock falls heavily against his stomach, pink and glistening at the tip. He opens his eyes to look at Stewy, his expression full and expectant.

Stewy reaches between them and takes Kendall’s cock in his fist. He strokes it slowly before gradually quickening his pace. Kendall’s breath catches in his throat, his eyelids fluttering closed again. He’s incapable of holding them open as the pleasure builds between his thighs and circuits through his body.

“Is this what you want?” Stewy asks lowly.

“Yeah,” Kendall says, and his hands find their way into Stewy’s hair again. “Please, dude.”

“You look really good like this, Ken,” Stewy says. He’s no longer teasing, the heady playfulness in his voice replaced by sincerity. It almost makes Kendall’s eyes well. It’s too much for right now, too heavy. “I missed you, you know that?”

Kendall nods. His entire body feels warm, like Stewy’s soft voice is making its home underneath his skin. Kendall’s heart thumps loudly in his chest, picking up speed. He wonders if Stewy can hear it. He wants to grab Stewy’s hand and press it to his ribcage, ask him to count the beats, but the gesture would be too intimate, too risky when Kendall is still struggling to find the normalcy he lost.

“I’m not fucking with you, Kendall,” Stewy insists. “I mean it.”

“I know, Stewy.”

Kendall means it too.

“Good.”

Stewy repositions himself on the couch, hovering over Kendall as he continues to stroke him. He places another kiss against Kendall’s hip, then Kendall feels the unexpected heat of Stewy’s mouth engulf the head of his cock.

“God,” Kendall moans, fist immediately tensing in Stewy’s hair. The curls nestle between his fingers as he tugs roughly enough to show Stewy he’s paying attention. Kendall’s head falls back against the armrest of the couch, eyes still tightly closed. “Feels—feels really—” He inhales sharply as Stewy flattens his tongue against his shaft, wet and slick, then bows his head again. “—feels good. Fuck.”

Stewy must take that as a sign to increase his pace. He swallows around Kendall, his hand still moving steadily at the base of his cock. Kendall feels his arousal build. He’s being undone by the warmth, Stewy’s spare hand possessively gripping the inside of his thigh. Kendall’s muscles tense, his pleasure plateauing, then his body lets go.

“Stew—”

Kendall comes before he can voice much of a warning, but Stewy doesn’t pull away, letting him ride out his orgasm without immediately losing the heat. As the sensation dulls, Kendall feels his limbs relax. His heart pounds rapidly, then slows again. Sweat blossoms on his neck, his stomach, the skin trapped beneath Stewy’s palm. 

Kendall regains himself, his eyes opening to stare at the light mottled ceiling. Stewy finally pulls off, sitting back on his thighs. Kendall can hear the faint sound of Stewy catching his breath. He sits up on his elbows to watch Stewy carefully wipe a bead of saliva from the corner of his mouth. Kendall tucks his softening erection back into his underwear, then lazily zips up his pants halfway. He reaches for Stewy, wrapping his arms around him as they fall back onto the couch. Kendall kisses him, slow and sweet. He hopes it tastes like an accepted apology.

Eventually, Stewy breaks the kiss, a smirk on his face.

“Eager to taste your own cum, are we?”

“Ugh, dude. Fucking gross.”

Kendall makes a “yuck” sound at the back of his throat. He playfully bats Stewy away. It makes Stewy laugh. Kendall grins. He runs his knuckle over the precise line of Stewy’s beard, across his left cheek.

“I think you got some on your face, bro. In your beard.”

“Fuck you. I would know.”

Kendall shrugs, feigning uncertainty. “I dunno, man. But they say these days that, like, jizz is good for your skin or whatever. Could be the next beard oil mega-ingredient. Maybe you should invest in that.”

“Is that your professional advice from the world of VCing?” Stewy asks. “I thought you were into hydrogen lamps and shitty hipster art, not cum facials.”

Kendall laughs. They both do. As their laughter dies down, Stewy reaches over to zip Kendall’s pants the rest of the way up, then he refastens Kendall’s belt.

“That was nice,” Kendall says and Stewy hums in agreement. He smiles at Kendall, and Kendall awkwardly looks between them, suddenly realizing his own selfishness. He traces a line down Stewy’s chest to the button of his pants. “Um, do you, uh, do you want me to—"

Stewy shakes his head before Kendall can finish his sentence. “Nah, man. Thanks, but, uh, maybe later?”

With that, Stewy slides off the couch. He checks his watch, then begins re-adjusting the t-shirt and blazer Kendall wrinkled with his wandering hands.

“You sure?” Kendall asks, sitting up and swinging his legs over onto the floor so he can look at Stewy head-on. “Because I could—"

“Yeah, I would, man,” Stewy says. “But I have shit to do tonight.”

Kendall frowns, skeptically narrowing his eyes at him. “You have shit to do?” At first, he thinks Stewy is teasing him, but then Stewy smirks, his eyes glinting the way they do when he has a proposition, or a pitch. “Like what, Stew?”

Stewy stops fiddling with his clothes as he turns to face Kendall fully. He clears his throat. “Alright. So listen, I have a question for you.” He pauses, takes a breath. “How would you like to be all the way out? Half a bill for your share of Waystar.”

He says it so casually that Kendall can only stare at him in disbelief. His head tilts to the side, a mixture of confusion and excitement stirring his insides. “Are you—is this for real?”

Stewy grins and Kendall hears the words echo inside his head again.

_Follow the money._

Stewy fucking Hosseini.

_Follow the money, Ken._

Maybe he will.

**Author's Note:**

> I have so, so much shame, but thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought.


End file.
